The dainty little French clock on the mantel, one of Nance's new possessions, tinkled five times in a subdued, fairy chime and the friends scattered to their various rooms to unpack. Judy was now in Frances Andrews' old room, next to the one occupied by Molly and Nance. "I think I'll take a gimlet and bore a hole through the wall," she announced as she lingered a moment after the others had gone, "so that we can communicate without having to walk ten steps--I counted them this morning--and open two doors." "Who has your old room, Judy?" inquired Molly. "You'd never guess in a thousand years, so I'll have to enlighten you," answered Judy. "A young Japanese lady." "For heaven's sake!" cried Molly and Nance in one breath, while Judy, who loved a climax, sailed from the room without vouchsafing any more information. CHAPTER II. OTOYO. Molly and Nance were very busy that night arranging their belongings. Molly's tastes were simple and Nance's were what might be called complicated. Molly had been reared all her life in large spaces, big, airy rooms, and broad halls, and the few pieces of heavy old mahogany in them were of the kind that cannot be bought for a song. Nance had been reared in an atmosphere of oiled walnut and boarding house bric-à-brac. She was learning because she had an exceedingly observing and intelligent mind, but she had not learned. Therefore, that night, when Molly hung the white muslin curtains, and spread out the beautiful blue antique rug left by Frances Andrews, she devoutly hoped that Nance would "go easy" with the pictures and ornaments. "What we want to try to do this year, Nance," she announced from the top of the step ladder, "is to keep things empty. We got fairly messy last winter after Christmas. I'm going to keep all those banners and things packed this year." "Perhaps I'd better not get out those passe-partouted Gibson pictures," began Nance a little doubtfully. "Just as you like, Nance, dear," said Molly. She would rather have hung the wall with bill posters than have hurt her friend's feelings. "Honestly, you aren't fond of them, are you?" asked Nance. "Oh, it isn't that," apologized Molly. "But I think so many small pictures scattered over a big wall space are--well, rather tiring to the optic nerves." Nance looked sad, but she had unbounded faith in Molly's opinions. "What shall we do with this big empty wall space, then?" she asked, pausing in her unpacking to regard a sea of blue-gray cartridge paper with a critical eye. At this juncture there came a light, timid tap, so faint, indeed, that it might have been the swish of a mouse's tail as he brushed past the door. Molly paused in her contemplation of blank walls and listened. "Did you hear anything, Nance?" she asked. "I thought I heard a tapping at our chamber door." "Come in," called Nance briskly.